Flor. Well, well, no matter—come, I want to hear every thing—to know what remarkable occurrences have happened since I left England.—Pray, Lady Waitfor't, inform me—do let me know every little circumstance.
Lady. Rather, sir, we should ask of you what happened in your travels?
Flor. Oh, nothing so shocking!—no man can be the herald of his own praise.
Lady. Yes, sir,—but I wish to know how you like the Chapel of Loretto, the Venus de Medicis of Florence, the Vatican at Rome, and all the numberless curiosities peculiar to the countries you have travelled through?
Lord. Look ye—I'll answer for it, he knows nothing of the gentlemen you mention—do you, my sweet pretty?—Oh! you damned puppy!
Lord. Swear, my lord! Zounds! it's my prerogative, and, by——tell me how you spent your time, sir?
Flor. Why, in contemplating living angels, not dead antiquities;—in basking in the rays of beauty, not mouldering in the dust of ancestry;—in mirth, festivity, and pleasure; not study, pedantry, and retirement.—Oh, I have lived, sir! lived for myself, not an ungrateful world, who, should I die a martyr to their cause, would only laugh and wonder at my folly.
Lady. You seem to know the world, Mr Floriville.
Flor. No, ma'am, I know little of mankind, and less of myself,—I have no pilot, but my pleasures;—no mistress, but my passions;—and I don't believe, if it was to save my life, I could reason consequentially for a minute together.